


Redemption

by wannabesirACD



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depiction of Suicidal Attempt, One Shot, Saving a Life, Short One Shot, Suicidal Thoughts, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-06 07:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wannabesirACD/pseuds/wannabesirACD
Summary: John and Sherlock find their new acquaintance on a rooftop ready to jump."If John has taught me anything, it's that no one is beyond redemption."BASED ON A TRUE STORY.





	Redemption

"Go away."

Sherlock and John stood just a couple feet apart, staring at the source of the teary female voice. She stood on the ledge of the roof and stared out at the setting horizon, her form lined with golden light. Her clothes were dark and informal, just a hoodie and jeans, and they did nearly nothing to protect her from the strong pre-storm wind.

"Please." She added, choking on the word. John could barely hear it over the sounds of traffic below.

"Not until you step down." Sherlock replied. John glanced at him, almost not expecting the detective to reply. "There's work to-"

"I don't give a fuck about the work!" She shouted, her American accent coming through clearly with her heightened emotions. She spoke with a scowl, "They'll find another criminologist. I'm not the last one."

"Finding another would take time and resources." Sherlock countered, stepping forward slowly. "You're already familiar with the case. Can this mental fissure not wait until the case is closed?"

"Sherlock," John growled, reaching out and grabbing Sherlock's jacket by its sleeve, giving it a warning tug. Sherlock glanced back at the doctor for a brief second.

"It doesn't take a _genuis_ ," She snarled, "to become familiar with a case like this. Besides, it's not like I haven't told you my opinion on the suspect."

"But you haven't told the jury. How would it look if we testified as witnesses saying what you told us if you've jumped off a building just a few days prior?"

"I don't care, Sherlock!" The woman shouted, her voice wet with tears. "I don't _fucking_ care! That's not my problem!" Her head tilted downwards towards the busy street below.

Sherlock opened his mouth and took a defiant step toward the woman, but John had seen enough. He reached out and grabbed the detective by his coat, yanking him with the strength that only adrenaline and anger could provide, and forcefully turned the man's body to face John.

"Shut. Up." John sternly growled into Sherlock's face, watching the expression shift from irritation to a mixture of reluctant obedience and a realization of wrongdoing. John let the taller man go and looked at the broken woman wiping her eyes with her hoodie's sleeve, shivering in the cold air.

"Tara." John called out gently, just loud enough to get her attention. The woman raised her head toward the sky, shaking it slightly.

"Fucking - no. Why? _Why?_ Why are you here?" She murmured. "I don't want you to see me..." Her voice trailed off, tears choking her throat. "Just go away, both of you."

"I'm not going to do that, Tara." John replied in the same gentle tone, but with a hint of stubborn tenacity. "You know I'm not going to leave."

" _Please,_ " she begged, her hands shakily grabbing her sleeve-covered elbows in front of her chest. "Please, just go."

"No. Now please just step down and come back inside with me - with _us._ " John glanced over his shoulder slightly at Sherlock before turning his head back to look at the back of Tara's head. "Sherlock means well, he just... doesn't know how to go about it."

There was a slight pause before she whispered, "I know... But... I can't."

"Yes, you can." John stepped closer. He was just a couple meters away now; too far away to sprint for her, but just close enough to prepare for the worst. "I know what you're going through. I was in the same state you're in right now just a few years ago, but I'm still stood here."

"You've got no idea." Tara denied, although the sentiment wasn't casted as resentment and distrust. The tone was sorrowful, solemn. "You've got someone. Someone you can trust. Someone who's alive and sure, he can be an asshole and a handful at times, but he's still someone that you can look across the room, meet their eyes, and see a thought or idea in their eyes and understand it." Tara rubbed her hands over her sleeves in a vain attempt at warming her painfully cold skin. "You two have that connection. I don't. Not anymore."

"Anymore?" Sherlock questioned, his voice surprisingly soft and empathetic. John worriedly watched Tara and quietly stepped closer.

"Her name was Maddy." Tara whispered, tears stinging her face and blurring her vision. "We practically grew up together. She was my closest friend - we were so close that I joked that we were like gay lovers, because 'sister' didn't seem fitting enough. While I was quiet, timid, and depressive, she was the opposite. She was bubbly, crazy, and seemingly high on life." Tara paused.

"When the rest of my life was turning to shit, when I felt like I was so alone and misunderstood, I knew I could count on her. I knew she had my back. I knew that I could spend three days straight with her laughing or silently playing video games, and if we went weeks without talking I knew I could invite her over and it would be like time never passed."

Silence filled the air, and John fought to release his jaw's tightly clenched lock.

"What happened to her?" He cautiously asked.

"She... She shot herself." Tara struggled to speak through the tears. "She said that she'd see me on Monday for classes. I-I had been driving her back and forth from our college on my way to my own home five minutes away f-from hers, and she said that she'd see me Monday. That Friday she... She sent me a text asking what song she should listen to. By the time I noticed and replied, she'd already found her father's riot shotgun underneath her parents bed and pulled the trigger in the hall bathroom."

John and Sherlock were both speechless. This was nothing like what they had gone through the day of The Fall. This was _real_ , unscripted violence. There was no cleverly hidden ruse, no outside danger forcing her friend's hand.

"I remember hearing about The Fall before it happened." Tara continued, her voice slowly becoming more steady as she spoke. "That's probably why I had the nightmares that I had after she died."

For the first time since finding her on the roof, Tara turned to look over her shoulder at the two men watching her every move. Her dark brown eyes were bloodshot, fresh and old tear stains trailing down her face, even to her neck.

"I kept dreaming that she would appear - walk into the room, into my field of view, or even just manifest out of nothing - and everything would turn out to be fine. Like she wasn't really dead. She'd faked it. Or maybe she hadn't, but she was there in front of me and my mind didn't care if it didn't make sense, _she was there_." Tara swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath, trembling in the cold. "I remember each time I would practically tackle her and pull her into a hug, both of us sobbing. I could remember what hugging her felt like, and it ached so badly. The first nightmare, I know I kept saying, 'I hate you, I hate you so much. I hate you but I love you.' From then on her being dead-but-not progressively got to be the new normal in my mind, until finally the sobbing reaction didn't happen when she would appear in my dreams. When she would appear, it would be as reassurance. I guess it was my mind's way of coping with losing the one person I could absolutely, undoubtedly rely on for support."

"God..." John breathed, stepping closer. "I'm... Christ, 'sorry' doesn't cut it."

"I just want to stop hurting." Tara choked out, looking into John's eyes. "I just want to be with her again. I don't think there's something after death, but if there is I want to hug her again. I want to tell her that she's loved." Tara wiped her eyes. "Hell, just having all this shit _stop_ would be good enough for me. Why do I get to live when she deserved it so much more?"

"You'll learn to cope." John reassured, closing in on Tara. He was only a meter away, now. "You've just got to find something positive to take from it and go on from there. Even if it's something small or dark and twisted, latch onto it and use it until you don't need to anymore."

"You help people."

John and Tara focused their gaze on Sherlock, listening as he continued, "That's why you studied this profession. You enjoy helping others overcome their trials and tribulations. The death of your friend has helped you see through the facades people build to protect themselves. It's why you feel so connected to our dear Watson. You can tell without asking that he has seen and done things that have tested his mental health, and he copes by helping others. You two are what they call 'kindred souls', are you not?"

Sherlock calmly walked toward Tara, stopping next to John. "So let us help you." Sherlock reached out with his right hand, keeping eye contact with Tara. "If John has taught me anything, it's that no one is beyond redemption."

John stared at Sherlock for a moment before he softly smiled and faced the hurting woman standing on the ledge. Reaching out with his left hand, he gave Tara a reassuring, hopeful look. Both men watched the stubbornness crumble and the fight in her posture fade. Shakily she carefully crouched down, hopping down onto the concrete rooftop shivering and exhausted. John and Sherlock walked toward her as she took a few steps toward them, meeting her halfway.

The doctor wrapped his arms around the young woman and hugged her tight while the tall detective took off his coat to wrap around her.

**Author's Note:**

> This story, besides the BBC Sherlock aspects and the tall building, is completely true. My best friend from childhood, Madison Jones, really did shoot herself with a shotgun in the manner described. I, Tara, really was suicidal after her death, going so far as to fantasize about crashing my car whenever I drove to or from college. As for the criminology bit, I'm currently studying to become a criminologist and I figured that would make the most sense for 'me' to be given the chance to meet Sherlock and John.  
> If this publishes on the day it's supposed to, then it's September 9th. This is the day that my best friend committed suicide. In honor of her memory, I wrote this. If I had money I would donate to suicide awareness but I'm a broke college student.


End file.
